No Time For Us
by jeremieyz
Summary: All he needed was a little time, one night's rest without the fear of being hunted, just to catch his breath. So he gambled and used his last smidgen of magic to break into Eitri's vault. And once he reached the ancient sands, he would stop time right then and there, and sleep until regaining enough energy to leave the place alive. Or at least, that was the plan. Eventual Khan/Loki
1. Prologue: No Time

**No Time For Us**

_I recently gave myself Khoki (Khan and Loki) feels, so I thought I'd share the pain. Enjoy the blurb._

* * *

**Prologue: No Time**

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, infiltrating the vault of the dwarf king Eitri and stealing one of the ancient relics.

Loki was tired of running, tired of covering his tracks wherever he went, hiding from the many enemies he had easily made since escaping Odin's prison. Friendless, alone, and drained to the very core of his bones, the young god knew he was in a desperate state. If his reserve of magic depleted any further, there will be nothing shielding him from Heimdall's all knowing eyes.

All he needed was a little time, one night's rest without the fear of being hunted, just to catch his breath. So he gambled and used his last smidgen of magic to break into Eitri's vault. And once he reached the ancient sands, he would stop time right then and there, and sleep until regaining enough energy to leave the place alive. Or at least, that was the plan.

What Loki hadn't anticipated was for the relic to be utterly obstinate, rejecting his magic even as his back hits against the walls of a dead end.

"Wretched thing," he growls through clenched teeth, tears of frustration welling in the corners of his eyes, as he channels his magic through the sands of the hourglass one last time. "I need you to work. You must work! I refuse to die this way!"

And Loki very well could have died that day, if it hadn't been for some strange miracle that suddenly triggered the sands to glow an ethereal blue. The light engulfs him, seeps to every crevice of the treasure room, and the Mischief God can only gape in awe as axes and arrows suspend in midair, the dwarf soldiers frozen in their combat stances.

He breathes a sigh of relief as the chaos momentarily halts, and a long moment passes before he builds the audacity to rest his eyes. Pressing against a pillar for support, he kneels to sit, feeling his muscles protest and ache now that the rush of adrenaline is no longer dulling the pain. Loki leans his head against the marble, gripping loosely to the enchanted hourglass at his side, but before he can even teeter into weary, dreamless sleep, the ground is suddenly pulled from beneath him.

Loki startles awake, feeling the clench and twist of his stomach too familiar, as he is sucked into the unmistakable distort of a portal. He wonders if this is the end. Has Heimdall finally caught up to him, returning him to Odin's wrath without even a moment's hesitation? But his terrors are soon blown to confusion, as he is suddenly released into black emptiness. Loki lands on something curved and metal and hears a resounding crack. He hopes it's none of his ribs.

The young god musters enough magic to cast a small light, revealing the contents of the windowless chamber. The walls are made of metal, and there is nothing else in its confinements other than the large, cylindrical object on which he is currently sitting.

He runs a hand along the cool surface, feeling the dents he had left from his fall, until his fingernails scrape against smooth glass. He brings the light closer to examine this object, and his breath is caught in his throat once he realizes a man is inside, his face ghostly and obscure beyond the cracked window.

Loki watches him for a long time until the frantic beating of his heart subsides. He isn't sure if the man is dead or sleeping, eyes closed and features relaxed in his frost-tinted chamber. His dark hair is smoothed back, although a few rebellious strands curl along his temple. And Loki—in his surreal, depleted state—is strangely captivated by the pale skin, the long face, sharp cheekbones, soft bowed lips—until piercing quicksilver eyes are staring into his.

He fails to muffle a cry as the glass between them shatters.


	2. Khan, Kirk, and the Starfleet Command

**Chapter 1: Khan, Kirk, and the Starfleet Command**

"_OhnononononoNONO!" is what I said when I realized this might turn into a long fic after all._

_My Cap/Loki fic __Easy Come, Easy Go__ will still be my main project, but I can't deny that I really, really want to flesh this out._

_I've already read an embarrassingly large amount of Star Trek wikia in hopes of making this story believable, so hopefully it is. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Loki lands on his rear rather inelegantly when the previously frozen man kicks open the metal capsule as if it were made of paper. And before the god can even regain his footing, the man was once again inches away from his face, gripping his shoulders tightly enough to bruise.

"Luke," he whispers, cold breathe like a caress against Loki's skin, eyes flashing of something desperate and wild, and Loki can only gape wordlessly in return before his own terror soon takes over. This assault must have been the final straw on his battle-worn body, and the god can only shudder as his magic slips away like sand through fingers.

The man widens his eyes, his voice wavering with an odd mixture of shock and betrayal, as Loki's glamour fades. "You're not—You're not _human_."

"A remarkable observation," Loki rasps scathingly, feeling the blue-ness spreading across skin like ink on silk. "And judging by your woeful ignorance, you _must_ be."

"Who are you?" His attacker's features twist into something ugly, fingers digging into the god's shoulder blades. "And why have you woken me?"

"I am Loki, of Asgard. And if it is of any consolation to you, I did not do it on purpose." He closes his eyes and exhales, focusing everything he has left to restore his glamour. However, his efforts only seemed to infuriate his aggressor.

"_Asgard_?" The man spits, shoving Loki against the nearest wall with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs. "Is this some kind of a joke? Are you here to _taunt_ me of all that I've lost? Tell me! Who sent you?"

"No one _sent_ me," Loki manages just as cold fingers circle dangerously around his neck. "I have not the faintest idea of what you are going on about. Unhand me, _now_!" He glares imperiously at his attacker, but it was a poor effort, to which he even admits.

"Weak." The man's voice is like frozen daggers. "Pathetic. Give me one reason not to kill you right now."

And Loki would've feared for his life if he weren't so proud, so accustomed to mortals groveling at his feet. "A human—as formidable as you are—should never challenge a god."

The man draws his brows together, faintly amused. "You're claiming to be a god?"

"I _am_ a god," Loki snarls, teeth-bearing and livid. "Allow me one day, and I will quell all your doubts."

The human has the audacity to laugh—a low, grating chuckle unveiling something hideous and bitter. "You can have all the time you need," he scoffs as his fist collides painfully against Loki's midriff.

A pitiful sound escapes the god's lips as his knees buckle beneath him. He crumbles, the ground meeting him all too quickly, just as everything fades to darkness.

###

"What the—Who is he?"

"I don't know. Definitely not registered in the system."

"What is he even _wearing_?"

"Never mind that. He has infiltrated the base without being detected at all."

"_Shit_—Looks like he's waking up."

"Hurry and get him to the containment chamber. And contact Kirk. He'd want to know that Khan escaped."

###

Loki wakes up in a cot, inside a fluorescently lit glass prison, and he grumbles at the bad memories this setting provokes. He runs a hand across his chest, feeling a cool, thin, malleable material in place of his usual armor and leather. A large bruise is blossoming above his navel, and it aches dully every time he breathes, but other than that, he feels remarkably fine, with the proper rest he has gotten.

He glances around to confirm he is indeed alone, before pushing himself up to thoroughly inspect the cell. He brings a hand to the transparent wall and pushes, feeling it's give—or in this case, lack of—sturdy, nearly unbreakable, much more impressive than the containment chamber at SHIELD. However, it is not impervious to magic, and Loki smirks, realizing his captors must have no idea of who he is, to enclose him in such an ill-suited prison. So perhaps, it would be advantageous to hide his identity for now, until he gains some leverage in this strange turn of events.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you." A voice breaks the silence, before a human steps into view—tall, well built, with short blond hair, honest blue eyes, and a playful hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He is sporting a woefully colored yellow shirt made of the same material that Loki is being forced to wear. He looks like a complete idiot, the god very quickly decides. "It's stronger than titanium and denser than tungsten. You won't break it."

"I see," Loki withdraws his hand, smiling faintly.

"You're not from around here, are you?" The man crosses his arms.

"Very perceptive of you. What gave me away?"

"Your clothes," his captor says plainly, "Isn't leather and metal a bit—_archaic_? No offense."

"It is a warrior's armor in my realm."

"And where is that exactly?"

"Jötunheim." Loki says promptly, realizing that he needs to throw a couple of bones before getting his own answers. Sorcerers are less common among Frost Giants, so it is better to admit he is one, rather than revealing his affiliation with Asgard. If this man is knowledgeable enough to know that Frost Giants are blue, Loki can always forgo his glamour to convince him, even if the idea leaves a self-depreciating and bitter afterthought.

"Jötunheim?" The man appears confused, as if he's never heard of the word. All the better, Loki thinks. "Who are you?"

"It is common courtesy for the host to introduce himself first."

"You are not a guest on my ship. You are a prisoner."

"A ship." Loki allows himself a thin-lipped smile. "And you must be the captain then."

"Ah, very cheeky of you." The man grins, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. He has the looks of a golden-boy, dauntless and charming just like Thor, and Loki despises him already. "Although, I thought it would've been obvious." The man tugs on the collar of his shirt, for emphasis.

"Your hideous yellow shirt should have informed me that?" Loki's tone is sardonic, and it appears to have effectively fueled the anger that the captain had strived to suppress, his smile disappearing immediately.

"Who the hell are you?" He snarls, voice rising to an unpromising decibel. "You show up dressed in leather armor. You speak like you're from the 16th century. You don't even know the basic rank coding of the Starfleet Command—which all would suggest that you're from some feudal, Spartan civilization. _Yet_, you were able to infiltrate one of the most heavily guarded bases under the UFP and unleash the deadliest criminal we have ever faced. Can you please explain to me _how_ you've managed to do that?"

"Ah, that is why you are upset." Loki smirks as the captain's features darken dangerously.

"Of course, I'm upset. Do you have any idea who Khan Noonien Singh is?"

"The frozen man, I presume."

"Khan is a genetically engineered superhuman, who—last year—during a brief lapse into consciousness, blew up the Kelvin Archive, murdered 42 innocent men and women, opened fire on a room full of unarmed Starfleet officers, threatened to lead a genocide of every race he deems inferior, nearly started an intergalactic war—" The captain takes a deep breath to compose himself, before smiling sardonically. "—I can go on, but I think you get my point."

Loki's lips curve into a self-satisfied sneer as he completes his assessment of the man—stubborn, arrogant, driven by emotion. It was all too easy.

"Who are you?" The captain says after a brief period of seething, "Why did you release Khan Noonien Singh."

"I am Leiv of Jötunheim." Loki responds cooly. He opted to use the name of a previous stable servant, which should not come up in any Asgardian records, let alone Midgardian. "And just as I have informed this _Khan_, I did not release him on purpose."

"What the hell happened then?"

"I fell on the chamber that kept him frozen." Loki tilts his head, voice laced with obstinacy. "And I broke it."

The captain scowls, his last modicum of patience wearing away. "_How_ did you get in, in the first place?"

"Tell me who you are first."

"We're not on negotiating terms."

"Answer my questions, and I will answer yours." Loki self-righteously demands. "Efficiently and willingly."

A moment passes before the captain sighs, responding clearly out of obligation. "I'm James Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise, which currently you are on board."

"Are we going to Mi—_Earth_?"

"We've landed on Earth before you'd awoken. You are to stand trial for assisting a convicted terrorist."

"Is there a point to this waiting, then?"

"Your punishment could be arguably lessened if you choose to oblige to us."

"Oh, what brings me this privilege?" Loki raises an elegant brow, to which the captain—_Kirk_—merely shrugs.

"Hey, you managed to magically appear in that lead box, didn't you? Impressive, I have to admit. And obviously, you're not Khan's _ally_. You had no idea who he is, and he pretty much left you for dead." The last sentence had a taunting inflection, and Loki scowls.

"Yes, I would like to return him the favor, if given the opportunity."

"Well, good." Kirk smiles, almost good-naturedly, "I'll let you have a good swing at him once we catch him. And now that we're on the same page, you want to help us out too?"

Loki takes a brief moment to assess his cards, before responding smoothly, "Was my armor the only thing you stripped me of?"

The captain furrows his brows. "We didn't find anything else, if that's what you're suggesting. Although surveillance did catch Khan with this little hourglass thing, before he hijacked a transport vesicle."

"The hourglass," Loki resolutely states, "That is mine. That is how I appeared in his cell."

"How does it work?"

"I cannot explain to you without it."

The captain curves his lips to a wry smile. "Why don't you _try_?"

"I stole it and used it without understanding its power. Which is why I am here, captured."

"Where did you steal it from?"

"Jötunheim." If Loki is anything, he is a compulsive liar. "The king's vault."

"Why?"

"One of the king's many trinkets, and I was curious." He waves a flippant hand, but the captain doesn't appear to be wholly convinced.

"Wouldn't that be considered treason?"

"I was planning to return it. And I will."

Kirk eyes him suspiciously, to which the god counters with a challenging sneer, and eventually the captain opts to move on. "How dangerous is it? In Khan's hands?"

"As dangerous as a toy in the hands of an infant." Loki laughs dismissively, entertaining the idea that a mere human would dream of wielding such ancient magic. "He cannot use it."

"Are you sure? Khan's a smart man."

"Intellect has nothing to do with it. Only those of Jotun blood can wield our weapons." It's a lie—although not completely—and Loki wonders whether this Khan really had hoped to use the sands in some way. Although it hardly matters because once Loki finds him, he will kill him—and he might even do it swiftly because Khan, as much of a nuisance as he is, has impressed the god. A formidable feat, for a mortal.

A woman's voice resonates from the overhead speaker just as Kirk opens his mouth to speak again. "Captain, we have located Khan in London, on the roof of the Kelvin Memorial Archive. He is alone with no visible weapons or transportation for possible escape. I think he's expecting us."

"That bastard has some nerve to go back there after—" Kirk grits his teeth as he looks in the direction of the bodiless voice, "—he's a sitting duck now, whether he's expecting us or not. We'll catch him, no problem, but we need you to sit tight for now, Leiv, and once we get that hourglass, you're going to have to—Leiv?"

Of course, by then, Loki is already gone.

* * *

_Khan might seem a little off, but I swear there is a good reason._

_Feedback is love and motivation._

_Until next time :)_


	3. The Last King of Asgard

**Chapter 2: The Last King of Asgard**

_YES, there is plot. There is soooo much plot. I can't believe I'm putting this much thought into a pairing that has no basis whatsoever (other than Benedict and Tom being utterly gorgeous)_

_Well, it's definitely getting out of control. I hope you all enjoy the product of my madness._

* * *

Midgard isn't how Loki remembered, as he floats above the city of London, veiled in invisibility. The buildings of stone and brick have all been replaced with sky-reaching towers—glassy, and metallic, and glistening in sunset hues. But the humans at any rate are still the same, so very _Midgardian _the way they swarm in their streets mindlessly and indifferently, the only indication that Loki is on Midgard at all. From above, they look like ants.

He wonders where—or _when_—Eitri's sands have taken him. This _must_ be the future, with Midgardian civilization so outwardly advanced, Starfleet in lieu of SHIELD, Captain Kirk in lieu of the Avengers. But the question is how _far_? After all, he is still on Midgard, and humans have always been known for their fast-paced evolution, catalyzed by fragile bones and transient lives. Loki wonders if Thor is the king of Asgard now, and if himself—the future Loki—is captured, or even killed yet. Is that why no one came for him during the indefinite hours he had slept on that human ship, shield-less and vulnerable? The young god wonders where he stands in this new world.

London is easy enough to navigate, the Kelvin Memorial Archive prominent enough of a landmark that Loki manages to find just by following a few signs. He spots Khan on the roof of the library, gazing emptily at the late-autumn skyline, and the god contemplates briefly on the best approach to make the daring human pay.

He materializes before the man—summoning his armor, helmet, and scepter all at once—and if Khan were at all surprised, he hid it remarkably well.

The god lunges with the blunt edge of his weapon, which Khan readily evades, but his follow through kick lands solidly against the human's jaw, sending him staggering backwards.

Khan spits a small amount of blood with his saliva, and grins. "Now, that's more like a god."

"Return my hourglass, and I will gift you a painless death." Loki twists his lips to a scowl, but the human simply arches a challenging brow in response.

"And if I don't?"

"Then I will enjoy breaking you." The threat rolls off his tongue like a purr, before the god launches himself into another attack.

They fight half-heartedly, Loki landing more hits that his opponent, but to be fair, he has a weapon while Khan does not, and even so, the human doesn't seem particularly interested in retaliating either.

A low sweep of the scepter catches Khan by the calves, and the man drops to his knees. Loki takes the opportunity to thread his fingers through those dark locks before yanking roughly.

"Where is it?" he snarls, knee pressed firmly against the human's back.

Khan emits a sound somewhere between a laugh and a hiss. "I've hidden it."

"Let me inform you now, mortal. The relic is of little use to you."

"Oh, how wrong you are." Khan chuckles, a low rumble reverberating in the back of his throat—dark and peculiar, and it makes Loki irrationally angry.

"Explain," he growls, tightening his grip and earning a grunt.

"I was hoping we could talk, now that you're here." The human is panting slightly, but Loki can recognize humor in his voice, and it doesn't take long for the god to piece everything together.

"You wanted me to find you," he says, eyes narrowing, "That's why you took the sands. And now they only serve to prolong your life. "

"I figured it was important." Khan continues despite the painful strain on his back and neck. "I'm quite impressed with your swift escape, although it must've been child's play for the god you claim to be."

Loki scowls in indignation, his anger flaring. The nerve of this _mortal_, treating him like a pawn in some wayward experiment—purposely leaving him to be captured, so that in his escape, he would have demonstrated his capabilities."I do not need to prove anything to you—a petty criminal among mortals. You are beneath me!"

"I see James Kirk has left you with a woeful impression of me," Khan, despite his position, assertively responds, "I am anything but petty."

"Oh?" Loki half-purrs, descending onto one knee so that his lips are centimeters from his captive's ear. "And do you think your misbehavior merits the attention of a god?" He guilds the sharp edge of his scepter along the mortal's neck, pressing ever so gently until a single bead of crimson trickles down that pale expanse. Khan tenses at this, and Loki grins with renewed satisfaction. Just because he can't kill the mortal yet doesn't mean he can't make him worry.

"If you allow me the chance to voice my side, you will understand the reason behind my decision to—"

"I am no crusader for the people." Loki promptly interjects, "I do not _care_. I am only here to take what's rightfully mine."

A brief pause before the human speaks, tone clipped. "Very well. But perhaps if you were of this time, you'd be keener on what I have to offer, Loki of Asgard. Or should I say Jötunheim. A Frost Giant."

Loki feels his control slip as the latest jab strikes something tender, and he knees Khan on the back hard enough to snap the spine of any average mortal. Khan catches himself on elbows and knees before Loki kicks him on the side, repeatedly until the man collapses onto his back. The god leans forward to grab another fistful of disheveled hair, and pulls so that they are meeting eye to eye.

"You dare mock me?"

Khan winces slightly as Loki points the scepter to his sternum. "It was not my intention, if I did."

"How do you _know_ this?" The god snarls venomously and the mortal answers with a shrug, still too calm.

"I did some research while waiting. Why else would I be on the roof of a library?"

"Tell me your purpose for—" Loki breaks off with a sharp inhalation as aircrafts surround them, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. He looks to the ground to see men in uniform escorting civilians out and away from the library.

"Leiv, put your weapon down and step away from Khan." He hears the projected voice of Captain Kirk.

"Leiv?" Khan arches a brow, to which Loki scowls, frustrated at the needless distraction.

"He is referring to me."

"Is that your real name?"

"No."

"We understand your personal grievances," the Captain continues, "But Khan is a convicted criminal of Earth, and he will face our justice system."

Loki hauls the mortal to a standing position and flips him around, keeping him close as the point of the scepter curve dangerously along his Adam's apple.

"I only wish to speak with you," Khan repeats, gentler this time.

"And why should I grant you such privilege?"

"Allow me a day, and I will convince you to extend your visit."

"Is this my cue to strike you unconscious?" Loki says drily, to which the mortal laughs in that mesmerizingly low tremor.

"It hadn't been my finest hour. Forgive me."

"We have the place surrounded, Leiv," the Captain resumes, "And it's in your best interest to cooperate. We will not hesitate to treat you as a hostile force."

Loki brings an arm around the human, long fingers circling the pale exposed neck as he presses them close. He whispers his spells as the world around them twists, and once they land on a clearing outside of London, Loki immediately shoves the mortal away.

"Twenty-four hours, no more," he says impatiently while the human composes himself, smirking as he smooths back his hair. Whatever injuries Loki had inflicted on him seemed to have healed at a remarkable rate, much to the god's displeasure.

"Meet me in New York in an hour, on the roof of the Metropolitan Museum," Khan says as ribbons of golden light dance around him like firebugs, "We're going to an exhibition, so find something appropriate to wear."

The human then disappears without a trace, leaving the god baffled and annoyed.

###

Loki spends the next hour people watching and concludes that Midgardian fashion has not evolved as dramatically as their infrastructure. Men still wore suits and women evening gowns at concerts and galas, but the texture of their clothing appear smoother—no longer cotton or wool, but something synthetic and odd. Loki eventually decides that the guise he had worn in Stuttgart will do, although for his scarf at least, he tried to mimic that strange malleable fabric, its sleekness cool against his neck as he adds his final touches.

He reveals himself on the roof of the Metropolitan not a minute early, after thoroughly inspecting the block for any indications of a trap. Khan had arrived before him, sporting a long black coat, collars straightened to his cheekbones. His hair is no longer smoothed back, but in a sort of casual disarray, falling over his forehead on one side.

"Afraid of being noticed?" Loki approaches him, a cane in hand and a grin tugging on his lips. If he really wanted to show off, he would have donned the appearance of a child or a woman, but he decides that even as himself, his Midgardian semblance appears impressive enough.

"Even if someone recognizes me, it wouldn't matter." Khan says briskly without eyeing him twice. "We can only stay here for twenty-five minutes,"

"Why twenty-five?"

"The amount of time it takes for my energy to be traced."

The mortal presses an ID that obviously isn't his to the scan by the entry of the roof, and the automatic doors open after a curt beep. Khan stops them just as they are about to step through.

"You won't take kindly to what I'm about to show you," he says, "But regrettably, this is the fastest and the most fitting way, considering time is not on our side."

"I think I will be the judge of that." Loki waves a dismissive hand, stepping ahead of the mortal, "Do not prolong this any further. I am growing rather bored."

###

"—After the death of Odin, the crown was passed to Prince Thor, too young and reckless to bear the burden left by his father's untimely departure. He waged another brutal war against the Frost Giants of Jötunheim, merciless in his pillage until the complete annihilation of the entire race. However, victory came at a great cost to the Asgardians—"

Loki feels a hand on his shoulder, as Khan whispers against the shell of his ear, "I know this is hard, but remember where we are. Do _not_ make a scene."

"—Thor's reign ended abruptly when Asgardian dominance was challenged by the Dark Elves of Svartalfheim, who had formed their own alliance with the rest of the Nine Worlds. Considerably weakened since the previous war, Asgard was eventually overpowered by the neighboring realms, its imperial ambitions ended forever with the passing of their last king—"

Loki makes his way through the crowd of listeners despite Khan's angry protests. "Come back." The human grabs for his elbow, but Loki violently jerks away. "We're running out of time. We need to go."

"—It has been nearly 300 years since the official end to Thor's reign. Despite the ultimate failure of their last ruler, Asgard nonetheless remains one of the most powerful and long-lived empires to ever emerge in history."

The speaker—a petite brunette in a midnight blue evening gown—pauses in her speech as she approaches the display, hidden behind red curtains.

"Much of their treasures have been scattered to the corners of the universe, so that the glory of this warrior race will always be remembered. We here at the Metropolitan Museum of Art is proud to present the latest addition to our formidable assortment of Asgardian artifacts—" the curtains fall as she pulls on a golden string "—the helmet of Thor."

"Lies!" Loki screams above the applause, his voice irrepressibly quivering. "How dare you spread such blasphemy, you treacherous wench?"

"E-Excuse me?" The woman looks to him stunned as the god leaps onto the stage. He strikes her with the flat of his forearm and sends her flying into the crowd.

A pulse of energy hits Loki on the shoulder, vaguely numbing, and the god immediately retaliates with a blast of his own, his cane transforming into his scepter as he takes down every guard in the room. Screams of horror and chaos erupt as the audience scatters, and Loki evades Khan's hand as the human reaches for him once more.

He swings his scepter against the glass encasing Thor's helmet, shattering it into fragments the size of pebbles. He drops to his knees, ignoring the shards digging into his skin, as he reaches for the helmet with trembling hands. Sliding his palm against the cool metal and tracing the wings with delicate fingers, Loki feels as though his blood has turned to ice. The helmet is unmistakably Thor's—the one the Thunder god had worn during their many battles together, both as brothers and as enemies; the very one they had stolen from Odin's vault as mischievous children, bright-eyed and oblivious to the brutality of war. Loki closes his eyes and tightens his jaws, willing himself not to care—_Thor_, the blundering oaf, the sentimental fool, whom Loki had lied to, betrayed, and attempted to kill multiple times—_Thor_, Odin's son, the rightful heir—not an ally, not a friend, _not his brother_.

Loki is struck by another blast—more painful than stunning this time—and he feels himself bruising and bleeding beneath the flimsy Midgardian clothing. Nevertheless, he can't bring himself to respond—ribcage constricted around his frantic heart, limbs weak like molasses.

Khan soon hauls him to his feet, holding him close with surprisingly strong arms. Another blast comes his way, but the mortal shields him from it, before firing his own weapon at the incoming guards. Loki watches on dully as swirls of gold dance around them, his fingers clutching to the helmet even as the museum disappears before his eyes.

* * *

_Yes, there is a time-line discrepancy, but that will be explained later._

_Everything I know of Star Trek comes from one movie and a large amount of wikia reading, so feel free to call me out on any inaccuracies. I'm always looking to improve. (But please be kind. I did put a lot of effort in this so far. Whelp.)_

_Thanks for reading, and comments are loved! Till next time! :)_


	4. A Universe Without Mischief

**Chapter 3: A Universe Without Mischief**

_A quick update due to popular demand :)_

_Although the next might come with a little more time in between. I have one of those future-determining exams coming up soon, so I will be studying my brains out!_

_Again, thank you for reading up until now. You guys have been supportive and wonderful!_

* * *

They emerge beneath the glow of a lone street lamp in an isolated corner of a park, just as the tolling of church bells echo in the distance. Loki is breathing raggedly, clinging onto the wretched helmet like death, and he should feel ashamed for the blatant display of vulnerability, especially to a human whom he still has every intention to humble and then kill. But grim reality is hovering like a shroud, and Loki _can't_—for the sake of all that he stands for—tear himself away from the woeful sentiment he so readily condemns.

Asgard overran, Jötunheim no more, Odin is dead, Thor is dead, and mother—_oh, his_ _poor mother_—she deserves this the least.

"I didn't know how else I could have proved it." He hears the human say, voice barely a whisper, regrettable almost. "You wouldn't have believed me if I simply told you."

"I do not wish to speak with you." Loki firmly declares despite the tremble in his hands and tightening of his throat.

"Then I will speak, and you will listen." Khan takes him by the elbow, pulling and pushing until the god is seated on a park bench, like a punished child. "We do not have much time."

Loki feels too drained of everything to challenge the man, so in silence he complies.

"I don't know how much James Kirk has revealed of me, but my name is Khan," the mortal begins, voice steady and eyes oddly gentle. "And like you, I am the last of my kind."

"You are _human_." Loki objects, almost maliciously, but Khan shakes his head.

"No, I am much more."

Khan tells him of his birth, the gene altering research that lead to the creation of his race. They were warriors, superior to humans in every conceivable way, and designed to bring peace and unity to Earth in the face of greater alien forces. But their efforts were refuted by the very organizations that created them, condemning them as criminals of war and sentencing them to centuries of frozen, indefinite sleep—that is, until a year ago, when Khan alone was brought out of suspension by the former admiral of the Starfleet Command.

Khan tells him of how the admiral had forced his hand, threated to kill his crew—his _family_—if he didn't surrender to the admiral's whims and assist him in his preparation for war. Khan had tried to escape, tried to smuggle his family to safety in the weapons he created, but his treachery was discovered, and he was forced escape alone. Believing that the admiral had killed his family, Khan retaliated against Starfleet in equal. In the end, it was Captain Kirk and his crew who ultimately ended his race. And now, he has no other purpose than to make them experience the same loss he has suffered.

And Loki wants to scoff, to denounce the mortal as a pathetic, sentimental fool, but how can he when he's still clutching Thor's helmet so desperately that his fingers are a ghastly white? He indulges on the idea of tossing the useless hunk of metal against the ground, burning and abusing it until it's no longer recognizable. But he doesn't.

"Asgard had fallen before we went to sleep, so I remember well the turn of events," Khan continues, "In the years following the last king's death, the Nine realms had been leaderless, uncontrolled, volatile, and dangerous—erupting frequently in petty wars and on the verge of self-destruction. Starfleet has interfered and are currently occupying Asgard and several other war-torn realms under the pretense of recreation, but their intentions are far from pure. They've stolen your treasures, exploited your resources, seized what they desired, and destroyed what they could not understand. They scourge the fallen empire like vultures."

Loki fights the urge to laugh at the cruel irony of it all, that Midgard—pathetic, frail, backwards _Midgard_—has risen while Asgard is in ruins. Thor is dead, and Loki is appalled at how the loss hurts him. Perhaps only an hour ago, Loki would have _loved_ to watch him burn. And now that he _did_ burn—although not to any of Loki's personal undertakings—this _somehow_ makes his death so much more significant.

"We share a common enemy," Khan says conclusively, "They have killed my people, and they're now oppressing yours."

"You want me to stay," Loki presumes, "For vengeance."

"Consider it."

Loki wonders if everything can simply be avoided if he were to return to his own time, warn Thor and Odin of this hell he had fallen to—but who would be so naïve to believe such outrageous tales, especially from the God of Lies? Those simple-minded fools wouldn't even look past his theft of Eitri's sands in the first place.

"When you woke me, your skin faded momentarily to blue," Khan digresses, catching the god slightly off guard, "You were depleted and battle-worn, and I knew you were out of your time when you claimed to be of Asgard. I thought maybe you were a spy for Jötunheim—a Frost Giant in Asgardian guise—" He pauses briefly, looking to the god in curious evaluation. "—I didn't expect you to react the way you did to the helmet of Thor. I had assumed you were enemies with the former King, but perhaps you're actually friends."

Khan's handsome, cruel features seem to soften in wary, but genuine, inquisitiveness, and this is precisely the moment when Loki realizes that something is irrevocably off. "No, I despise him."

"Then lovers, maybe?"

"Silence, mortal!" He feels bile rising to his throat just by the mere suggestion. "You know nothing to what you speak of!"

The mortal backs away, lips curved in faint amusement. "As always, forgive me if I have offended you." A gust of wind picks up, blowing his disheveled hair even more awry, and he glances emptily to the distance, as if sensing the inevitability of a storm. "I will leave you now, so you may think on your own with the remainder of the time we have agreed upon. And once the hours are reached, meet me in front of the Louvre in Paris, and I will tell you the whereabouts of your hourglass, regardless of your decision."

Loki only nods in response.

"You should be safe away from me, considering I am still Starfleet's main priority—although they must have characterized your energy by now as well. My advice is to stay low and stay moving, but I'm sure you're already skilled at that."

Without much of a farewell, the mortal vanishes in his usual swirl of gold, leaving Loki again, baffled and annoyed.

He remains seated on the park bench for a long time, trying to wrap his mind around all the information bombarded at him in the past hour. Khan had obviously done his research before bringing him here—deciphered Loki's blood ancestry and familiarized with Asgardian history as well as present day conditions. Loki of Asgard. God of Mischief and Lies. Second son to Odin and brother to Thor. Not the chosen heir to inherit the crown, but surely important enough to be transcendent to history—considering the amount of damage he has caused, and the shame his true parentage has brought to the royal family. But Khan did not know who he is, deduced that he had been a Jotun spy of all things, and not the treasonous second-prince he rightfully should have been remembered as. Something has gone horribly amiss in the unfolding of events, and there is only one place he knows that might hold the answers to these irrefutable inconsistencies. The Kelvin Memorial Archive.

###

3D-holographic screens, electronic databases, high-tech digital interactive displays—Loki scowls vehemently at the technology around him, because despite being in an _archive_, there is not a single _book_ in sight. Taking the time to mull over even the simplest of commands would no doubt prompt suspicion, and relying on the mortal Khan would defeat the purpose altogether. Loki needs to figure this out on his own, and he will not risk the possibility of the human hiding anything from him. Even though Khan has approached him as a potential ally, Loki is by no means under the illusion that Khan would impart any more loyalty than the god would return. The mortal has done exceptionally well to earn the smallest modicum of respect from the god, but his formidable intelligence, strength, and abilities only add to his potential for danger. Loki does not trust him, even in the slightest.

"Can I help you with anything, Miss?"

The god momentarily halts in his seething to face the owner of the voice—a tall, lanky young man with thick-rimmed glasses and a head full of auburn curls. He looks ungainly, laughable almost in his insecurity as he shifts from side to side, unsure of how to breathe properly under Loki's penetrating stare. The Mischief god curls his ruby painted lips in a satisfied grin, pushing a lock of wavy black hair behind his ear as he looks to the young man through thick, dark lashes. He will have to do.

###

"How the hell did you lure this pretty thing into the Norse history section, of all places?"

"I don't know, mate, but she has to be bonkers. Acts as though she's never seen a search engine her entire life."

"Oh, but look at her go. Seems to be getting the hang of it, alright."

"Yeah, fast learner, but had to hold her hand every step of the way. It's like she just fell out of the bloody sky or something, has no clue to—why are you smiling at me like that?"

"You planning to ask her out for a drink?"

"Didn't I just say she's bonkers?"

"So, she might actually say yes, then."

###

_Once, mankind accepted a simple truth: that they were not alone in this universe. Some worlds man believed home to their gods. Others they knew to fear._

Asgard is the home to an advanced alien species, visually indistinguishable from humans but possesses durability and physical prowess that are far exceeding. The Asgardians are a warrior race with vastly superior technology, which even today, can easily be dubbed as "magic."

_From around the cold and darkness came the Frost Giants, threatening to plunge the mortal world into a new ice age. But humanity would not face this threat alone. Our armies drove the Frost Giants back into the heart of their own world._

In the early 10th Century, the Asgardias played a crucial intervention in the invasion of Earth by the Frost Giants of Jötunheim. Their partaking in the war was largely reveled by the Northern Germanic people of the time, who in turn, worshipped the aliens as gods. Tales of Asgardian heroism were preserved in Norse mythology and Scandinavian folklore, prominent even after the spread of Christianity.

_The cost was great. In the end, their king fell, and the source of their power was taken from them. With the last great war ended, we withdrew from the other worlds and returned home at the Realm Eternal, Asgard._

In defeat, the Frost Giants retreated to the realm of perpetual ice, The Casket of Ancient Winters—their most powerful weapon—lost to the Asgardians. And from their downfall to their annihilation, the Frost Giants posed no major threat to any other civilizations. Asgardian involvement in other world affairs diminished considerably in the centuries to follow, until the second great war.

_And here we remain as the beacon of hope, shining out across the stars. And though we have fallen into man's myths and legends, it was Asgard and its warriors that brought peace to the universe._

Despite their resounding victory, the Asgardian king Odin was gravely injured during the final battle in Jötunheim, struck by arrows drenched in ice poison. For centuries, Odin fought against the venom before finally succumbing to the madness. The throne was passed to his only son, Thor, who waged another war against the Jötunheim, in vengeance for his fallen father. Invasion of the ice realm proved to be disastrous, their winters brutal and crippling. While Thor succeeded in the Jötun genocide, Asgardian army and resources were significantly depleted, leaving the kingdom vulnerable to subsequent attacks from neighboring realms. Thor, the last king of Asgard, eventually fell in battle against the Dark Elves of Svartalfheim, his death marking the end of the Asgardian Empire (Unknown—1994).

###

Loki presses his hands to his eyes, thoughts rushing through his mind faster than he can organize them. Odin never contracted ice poison during the great war—_did he_? Midgardian history described it as a slow spreading toxin, but Odin seemed well enough throughout Loki's childhood and adolescence, that he would never have suspected such.

More importantly, the years, they do not add up. Presently, Loki is on Midgard, year 2260, but history claims that Thor died in 1994. Loki recalls the Midgardian year to be 2012 when he led the Chitauri to New York, and surely, neither Thor nor Odin had fallen then.

Furthermore, There is no mention of Loki anywhere, not as second prince, or as the Jotun traitor in Odin's castle, who almost lead to a second war. Not even in Midgardian history was Loki remembered, the year 2012 had been a time of peace—no chaos, no death, no war—the Chitauri invasion practically a figment of his own imagination, unless—

A pitiful sound escapes his lips as the shock of sudden realization sends his heart plummeting. This strange new world might not be his in more ways than one. Eitri's sands—the ancient relic of time that he had so unceremoniously stolen with no understanding of it's unimaginable power—might not have simply thrusted Loki to a fixed period in the future, but a different universe altogether—a universe without Mischief, without Loki—where Thor was never banished to Midgard, never humbled, the Bifrost never damaged under their battle for the crown. The Chitauri never invaded New York, the Avengers never assembled, never had a reason to, and Asgard and Midgard never aligned. But _how_? How can Loki simply _not_ exist in this—

_In the aftermath of the battle, I went into the temple and found a baby. Small for a Giant's offspring, abandoned, suffering, left to die. Laufey's son._

The Odin of this world was gravely injured during the last battle in Jötunheim, so maybe he never—

Loki hears his heart beat against his eardrums, as cold, winding terror settles into his chest. Irony can be a cruel, twisted thing. He laughs shakily, silently, remembering all the bitterness he had harbored since the discovery of his true parentage, the many times he had wished he were never born. And now, trapped in a universe without the consequences of his existence, who would have guessed that _Asgard_—his once home, once family—would be even _worse_ off?

And when tomorrow comes, he could forge either one of two paths. He could retrieve his hourglass from that daring mortal, return to his own time, pretend this nightmare had never happened, and continue to live his life in exile—hunted, reviled, and alone. Or he could remain in this world for the time being, challenge the oppressors of Asgard, restore glory to a race who never had the fortune—or misfortune—of having him as their prince, their king, and rediscover some sort of purpose in his woeful existence. It takes precisely two minutes for Loki to make his decision.

The young, ungainly staff member approaches him soon after. "I'm sorry, Miss, but the Archive is closing."

Loki allows himself a faint smile. "How rude of me to extend my welcome."

"I—Well, no—You're always welcomed—to come back—just when it's open—" the man falters over his words, much to the god's amusement, "But what I mean to say is—" He inhales deeply through his nose. "—Would you possibly be interested in having a drink—with me?"

The man flushes to a dark shade of pink, as Loki arches an elegant brow, briefly contemplating over the offer. Surely, his night is free now that the necessary investigations have been completed, and perhaps, he would rather enjoy the company, with so little left to do before meeting Khan at dusk tomorrow. His decision has already been made, and there really is no point in dwelling further; any and all distractions should be welcomed.

Loki glances over at the man, who appears to want nothing more than to retrieve the last minute of his life. "Sure thing," the god says, much to the human's surprise, and leans in close to read the ID pinned to his breast pocket. "Darling Ben."

* * *

_The library staff member, you can interpret him as a dork!Benedict cameo if you like ;)_

_Lady!Loki/dork!Ben…isn't that a thought?_

_Again, thank you for reading! Please drop a comment if you enjoyed it, have suggestions, etc. Till next time!_


	5. Crashing Down

**Chapter 4: Crashing Down**

One more update before my hiatus until the end of the month. Again, can't apologize enough but I really need to pass my exam. I'll be sure to pick up where I left off once I return. For now, enjoy~

* * *

The humans have grown accustomed to the fact that they're not alone in this universe. In fact, they seem more than accepting of their extraterrestrial neighbors, the Midgardian saloons practically an interspecies mélange of loud music, flashy-neon ambiance, and alcohol-induced frenzy. And individuals appear _very_ liberal to whom they choose as their partner—or partners—for the night. It's a strange sight for Loki to take in, to see so many races mixing as if race doesn't matter, when throughout his whole life, he had believed that it did. He feels something twist inside, although he'd rather not linger on it for long.

His date buys him a drink—colorful and watered down like all Midgardian drinks are—but Loki still accepts with a small courteous smile.

"You're not from around here are you?" Ben says after swallowing his second. Loki had allowed his human companion to do most of the talking for the evening, and luckily for both, the alcohol had rendered the man to a quite proficient speaker. "You're like some—_angel_—a gorgeous, mysterious, clueless angel. Where are you even from?"

Loki smiles thinly, feeling slightly unnerved that he can no longer blend in so seamlessly in Midgard, in the extravagant and technological future. It could be problematic if he remains here without a guide, so perhaps there is still use for Khan, besides knowing the whereabouts of his hourglass.

"Oh, I'm being awfully rude," Ben says, ducking his head shyly and reminding Loki of the present, "Please, forgive me. I just want to know more about you."

Loki hums in acknowledgement, fluttering his lashes in a way that no man can refuse. "Darling, you first,"

The evening is pleasant enough to keep his boredom at bay. Overlooking the initial awkwardness and stumbled words, his human companion is rather agreeable in Loki's fickle opinion—sensible, decent, and intelligent enough for Loki to consider one of his more satisfying experiences. Perhaps he shouldn't have based his judgment of mankind solely on his encounters with the Avengers; after all, Americans are hardly the archetype of Midgardian tact.

Nonetheless, the pleasantness was soon put to an abrupt end when a plainly dresses Captain Kirk maneuvers his way to the bar counter, closely followed by a dour-looking man. They take the empty seats on the other side of Loki's human date, just by chance, it appears—as both men seems stupidly unaware of the god in disguise. Odin's reign had fallen long before Midgard intervened, so these humans must be woefully ignorant of their once power, and the potential of true sorcerers.

"Something the matter, Laurie?" Ben wrinkles his brows, brilliant blue-green eyes concerned behind glass.

"No, it's nothing," Loki quickly amends, scarlet lips curving to a small, reassuring smile, "Please, go on."

Ben continues to explain his line of work, but Loki is no longer invested, now that more interesting playthings have arrived. But of course, he will need to rid of his human companion first.

He remembers a trick he learned in his youth, his last victim was Thor. They were only boys at the time, and a petulant Loki was fed up with Thor's unwelcomed disruptions, when the younger god wanted nothing more than to finish his readings alone in the library. After scathing words and promises of pain had all failed, Loki was given no choice but to resort to a rather childish prank.

He recites the long forgotten incantations in his mind, his eyes intent on Ben's face. The man suddenly halts midway in his sentence, features both perplexed and worried, revealing all there is to know.

"Oh, oh dear—"

"Is something the matter?" The god looks to him innocently, and Ben laughs, slightly embarrassed.

"Please excuse me for a moment."

The human leaves in a hurry, and hopefully, he is fortunate enough to find the restrooms vacant, or this could turn messier than the god intended. And with no one to entertain for the time being, Loki directs his full attention to the captain merely a seat away.

"I have a bad feeling about this. Leaving Khan to Spock," the other man warns, although Kirk pays little heed.

"He handled him pretty well the first time."

"If that's your definition of well." The man's tone is sardonic, to which the captain responds with an impatient sigh.

"Well, Khan and his buddy split, and we can't just let this _Leiv_—if that's even his real name—wander around freely."

"_Jotenhiem_," his companion scoffs, "If you paid any attention during those long, hard years at the academy, you'd know that Frost Giants are ten feet tall, blue, and not to mention, _extinct_."

"Bones, _I know_," Kirk groans in exasperation before turning to face his accuser—whose name is Bones, it seems. "Anyone else on the ship probably would have caught on, which makes it a stupid lie and an unfunny joke."

"So what are you getting at?" Bones frowns, and Kirk inhales deeply through his nose, brain evidently working in overdrive.

"I don't know, but something is definitely off about our phony Frost Giant. He's definitely not Khan's ally in any way."

"What are you talking about? He helped Khan escape."

"Yeah, but remember when they fought on the roof of the archive? Khan was beat. I don't know, but maybe we can reason with Leiv, who knows? Enemy of my enemy, right?"

Bones shakes his head, obviously unconvinced. "I'm telling you this is a bad idea."

"I already got an earful from Spock. I don't need it from you too." Kirk grimaces, fingers drumming against a counter, "And keep your eyes open. He's here somewhere, and it's better that we spot him before he spots us."

"Why would he come to a place like this, anyway?"

"Who knows? Maybe he wants a drink and a good lay. Hell, I could use that too."

Kirk turns to call the bartender, and Loki takes the opportunity to lock eyes. And predictably, the captain's face breaks into a wide, lop-sided grin. "Hey. Jim Kirk."

"Laurie." Loki says, running a manicured finger around the rim of his empty glass.

"Just Laurie?"

"If I tell you my full name, would you even remember?"

Kirk's smile broadens, amused and unabashed. "You shouldn't assume the worst without getting to know me first. How about I buy you another drink?"

"But your date will be jealous." Loki teases, eyes flickering to the quiet man beside him, and the captain's brilliant smile immediately wavers.

"Oh, no, he's not my—" he defends himself, furrowing his brows in near disbelief. "Really? You've got to be kidding me."

Bones, meanwhile, is preoccupied with a small, digital device, and Loki wonders if this is the primitive instrument for tracking his energy—leading his pursuers to the general location of the bar, but lacking the precision to pinpoint the god's exact location, even when he is sitting merely a foot away. Loki manipulates his energy just slightly, and the man's frown deepens.

"Shit, we lost him," he says to Kirk, who immediately jerks around.

"Damn it, he must have seen us and bolted. Any idea where he could be?"

"I don't know, but we'll need to scan for him again." Bones pockets the apparatus, frowning disapprovingly towards Kirk and then to Loki, as if the captain's womanizing tendencies were any way the god's fault. "But on the bright side, Spock caught the other one in Barcelona. They're sending him to London right now."

"Yeah, well, tell them we're ready." Kirk sighs as he dismounts the stool, before bidding a quick farewell to Loki. "Looks like I'll have to buy you that drink another time. And don't worry, I won't forget." And with a wink and a smile, he's gone.

Ben returns around the same time, drying his slight wet hands on the side of his pants. "Sorry about that, I was just—Who was that?"

Loki runs his fingers along the human's arm and leans in to plant a kiss on his cheek. Ben's jaws effectively snaps shut. "Regrettably, I must go now," the god whispers against his ear, "Thank you for the evening."

The human struggles to find his voice, a crimson blush rising from neck to brows. "Wait, will I see you again?" He eventually manages just as Loki steps away.

"If fate permits." The god says, although he knows that it rarely does.

Once outside, Loki ducks into an ally and returns to his male form. He cloaks himself in invisibility before levitating towards the London sky, clever mind with the single goal of infiltrating Starfleet's base.

###

Loki hovers above Captain Kirk and his companion—a different man this time, with pointy ears and unique eyebrows—whom Kirk referred to as Spock. They are standing before the wall of a transparent prison, with Khan on the other side, unconscious and restrained on a cot, his chained wrists resting on his lower stomach.

"A portable transporter?" Kirk rubs at the hair at the nape of his neck, sounding quite awed. "How does he even manage to get stuff like this?"

"Judging by the crudeness and availability of the materials, he very well could have built it himself." The other's tone is factual and detached, which Loki finds oddly intriguing.

"So basically, within less than a day, he built a transporter by all by himself using spare screws and rubber bands. Any idea _how_ he managed it?"

"I'm afraid not. The transporter was destroyed during the crossfire, which was why we were allowed the opportunity to capture him in the first place."

"Well, that reassuring." Kirk sighs, crossing his arms. "This would explain why Marcus couldn't reel him after he went AWOL, since he could just _build_ stuff like this. How long is he knocked out for?"

"The sedation is dosed to wear off in 18 hours, but considering Khan's enhanced metabolism, most likely sooner."

"Good," the captain nods, "We still can't get a trace on our other problem yet, and I'm hoping that Khan can tell us something useful about Leiv."

"Yes, the Frost Giant that's neither blue nor a giant." Spock says with a hint of amusement, a corner of his lip lifting slightly. Kirk groans in over-animated exasperation.

"Alright, I made a dumb mistake. I admit it. Just let it die with dignity already."

Loki teleports into the cell after the two Starfleet officers leave, hovering over the unconscious prisoner curiously. Khan's hair is tousled once again, damp and curling and falling over his face in long fringes. A dark bruise is blossoming on his right cheekbone, and his lips are tainted with dried blood. He looks battered, but his injuries are nonetheless healing at a remarkable rate.

Loki can break him out anytime he wants, but decides to use this opportunity to assess the human, to see how he would fare in enemy territory. After all, Khan did the same to him when they first met, and it's only fair to return the favor. Loki will give him until tomorrow dusk—the time they had agreed upon to meet in front of the Louvre—before taking any action himself. And in the meantime, now that he's inside Starfleet's base with hours to spare, the god will just have to entertain himself in some other way.

###

Loki studies the humans, his likely adversaries in the near future, and concludes that Kirk is just as irritating as he first appeared to be. Nonetheless, his crew appears nauseatingly loyal to their unfit leader—Spock the right hand man, Bones the doctor, Carol the love interest, Uhura the love interest of Spock, and various others—all whom Loki can manipulate and pit against the captain. And without Odin, Thor, or the Avengers to thwart him, he has all the freedom to do as he wishes.

He follows Bones to the medical bay around midafternoon, where the doctor is supposed to examine Khan's fitness for trial the next day. Two hours remain until their designated time, and Khan must be well aware. Loki and Bones arrive to find the superhuman seated stiffly and silently on one of the benches, surrounded by eight armed guards. The checkup is rather routine, and the doctor visibly tense under his patient's penetrating stare. At one point, he orders Khan to lift the hem of his shirt, to which the prisoner abides, giving Loki a plentiful view of his fit form—which he admits, is impressive, for a human.

However, the real excitement doesn't start until Khan is escorted out of the medical area. Without much of an alternative during this dreadfully dull day, Loki follows Khan and his guards instead, and much to his delight, the human chooses this exact moment to rebel. Just as they were turning a corner, Khan jabs his elbow into the midriff of the guard to his right, before slamming his head against the man's nose. Another guard fires his weapon, which Khan blocks with his metal encased wrists, damaging the restraints. He then completely smashes the thick metal against another's head, before seizing a weapon and taking down the rest. He turns and bolts down the corridor just as the alarms go off.

Loki flies after him, and watches the superhuman destroy all that dared to cross his path, using anything and everything he could get his hands on as a weapon, and when nothing is available, bare hands and teeth. Loki does his best to stay out of the way, dodging wayward blasts from time to time, and once, even deflecting it back towards the guard. Khan fights with such intensity, hatred, and all-consuming rage, that Loki finds himself incapable to tear his eyes away from the enticing horror of it all. He feels his insides clench and stir, wishing against all sound judgment that the mortal can succeed.

Khan seems to have a thorough understanding of the building plan, and after a few twists and turns, they arrive at an opening in the base, where small aircrafts are landing and taking off. Khan wastes no time and lunges himself at a carrier, forcing the window open, and pulling and tossing the pilot aside. The model of the aircraft is obviously designed for one person alone—far too small for Loki to sneak aboard—and Khan soon takes off at an absurd speed—far too fast for Loki to tail, although he has no question as to where the human might be heading.

The pilot calls for reinforcement, before several other aircrafts follow in suit, and the god feels a twinge of apprehension at the turn of events. He teleports to Paris and floats above the center square of the Louvre, looking towards the horizon in London's direction.

An agonizing hour passes before he sees any indication of the human's arrival—a small dark spec eventually emerges into view, pursued by others. The aircraft teeters and stumbles in the sky—leaving a trail of debris and smoke behind—its crash inevitable in the city of Paris. Loki wonders if he should soften the impact without making his intervention too obvious. While reluctant to reveal the extent of his power just yet, the god is unsure whether his abilities are even enough to preserve the fragile bones of a mortal from such devastation.

As the aircraft approaches, the god gives an honest effort to direct it's trajectory towards a nearby patch of trees. The plane crashes, the metal exterior screeching and breaking off into sharp pieces, before skidding to a halt. Parts of carrier explode and set fire, and civilians are screaming and scattering all around, although there appears to be more property damage than actual people hurt, not that the god cares.

Loki waits for a sign from Khan, almost regretting his refusal to save the daring human when he had the chance. After all, this could all have been avoided had he been less proud, and now, he might be forced to venture this world alone, in search for his hourglass—wherever it could be—and how infuriating that thought is.

But among the flames and ruins, the human eventually emerges, and Loki releases the breath he didn't know he was holding. Khan is staggering towards the Louvre, parts of his clothes torn and burnt, left eye blinded by a stream of red. He makes his way to the center square as carriers circle him, men in uniforms descending with guns pointed. Khan ignores their commands to surrender, and instead, looks to the crowd and then, the sky for a sign—_anything_.

Loki descends to the mortal and engulfs them in thick sheets of ice, hardened with magic. The guns fire, but they do little besides chipping at the surface.

"Right on time," the god says, revealing himself, and only then does the mortal drop to his knees.

Loki threads his fingers through the sweat-damp hair behind Khan's left ear, urging the human to face up. He looks like he's been through hell and back, eyes heavy and dazed from fatigue, lips split and parted, red contrasting fantastically with the paleness of his skin. Loki drinks in the sight.

Something akin to a missile hits the roof of the ice dome, shaking the entire structure down to its core, and only then does the god tear his eyes away. He whispers his spells and they vanish from the chaos, just as the walls of ice came crashing down.

* * *

Please leave a comment! Thanks for reading! :)


	6. A Worthy Ally

**Chapter 5: A Worthy Ally**

Okay, so this is back...

Thank you everyone for wishing me luck on my exam! They are over now, although I'm not completely out of the waters yet. Still have apps to go through and what not. But I will be updating much more regularly (no more month long droughts, at least)

Well, for now, enjoy this next installment. Thanks again for being patient :)

* * *

Loki brings them to the roof of a cathedral on the outskirts of Paris, miles away from the heart of chaos, but close enough to see a faint pillar of smoke where Khan's aircraft had crashed. The sun is low in the sky by now, barely peaking above the skyline and tinting everything beneath in red and orange hues. The human beside him staggers to his feet and limps to a nearby wall, before easing down to sit.

"Your name is Khan, is it not?" Loki strides towards the man, before kneeling to inspect the damage—a gash above the left brow, burns to the shoulder, various cuts and bruises along the torso and thighs, perhaps a few cracked ribs. Nothing serious or permanently crippling, which is impressive considering the amount of collateral damage.

"Yes. Give me a moment." The human leans his head against the cobblestone wall, eyelids heavy. Loki reaches for the cut on his forehead, and Khan flinches away on instinct. "Let it be. I will heal on my own."

"I can heal you faster," Loki says without meeting his eyes, and takes Khan's hand this time, closing his fingers over the bloodied knuckles until all traces of damage are gone. Loki reaches for his face again, and Khan, although hesitant, doesn't resist. Perhaps, too exhausted to.

"You gambled," the god flatly states, and the mortal chuckles, low and rumbling in the back of his throat.

"And I won."

"Fool." Loki reproaches, although lacking his usual malice. "I could have left you to your capturers. What would you have done, then?"

"Improvise, like every other action I've taken so far." Khan laughs before turning until they meet eyes, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "But I knew you'd come."

Loki frowns, not particularly thrilled by the way Khan is speaking to him, almost with a vague familiarity that is completely unfounded on the god's part. Khan is much cleverer than most of his species, and surely he should know that Loki is dangerous, his power and magic boundless in comparison. So why is the human not more guarded, skeptical, or even fearful of the god? Why does he not react accordingly to what logic would dictate?

"Where is my hourglass?" Loki asks, suddenly remembering their agreement and the only reason they're in this mess together.

But Khan does not share his priorities. "Will you join me?"

"Answer my question first." Loki scowls, treating the burns on the human's shoulder with rougher handling than needed, earning a well-deserved hiss.

"In the Louvre." Khan relents, bringing up a hand to inspect his newly healed shoulder, thumb running along the intact skin.

"You hid it in a museum." Loki says with a hint of cynicism, and the human merely shrugs.

"Seemed fitting. For a relic."

"Where in the museum?"

"Would you still need it now that you'll be joining me?" The daring mortal grins—irksome and confident—and Loki feels his remaining patience snap like a wire.

"I have made no such vow." The god practically snarls, and Khan has the nerve to release a sharp, barking laugh, deep enough to echo and exasperatingly mesmerizing.

"Was my single-handed escape unimpressive?" The human half-teases, without a hint of modesty despite his battered state. "Not even when I overpowered the guards? Stolen their aircraft and destroyed their base?"

Loki assesses the man with wary eyes, before twisting his lips to a thin frown. "You knew I was watching."

"No, but now I do."

The god cruelly presses a thumb into a cut along the other's ribs, before healing it. "You are at the mercy of a god. I suggest you adjust yourself to my favor."

"A god, you say?" Khan winces. "A god of what?"

"Chaos. Mischief. Lies."

The moral raises his brows, to which Loki responds with a sanctimonious sneer, challenging the human to doubt his claim. Perhaps Khan would finally realize the graveness of his mistake in associating with a god, who would likely bring nothing but mayhem and misfortune. Perhaps he is reconsidering the proposal he had made in haste, regretfully willing to return Loki's hourglass without further dawdling. And if that were the case, Loki would not hesitate to strike him dead.

"Impressive title," Khan eventually says, with an unexpected air of nonchalance, "You will make a formidable ally, I am sure."

Or perhaps the human doesn't believe him.

"You do not even know half of what I am capable of." The god snarls, teeth bearing and voice laced with derision, but the human hardly reacts—no hesitancy, no fear.

"I look forward to finding out."

Loki can gut and burn the man right now if he wished, and he just might feel propelled to if Khan's arrogance persisted. He is not the first modified human the god has ever encountered, although after closer inspection, Khan seems more physically imposing than even Captain America. And Khan, of course, is cleverer, more devious, and lacks those self-righteous morals that Loki despises so much. And as irritating as he might be otherwise, Loki reluctantly agrees that Khan might very well be the most worthy ally on this pitiful excuse of a planet.

"They will be after us soon. We need to keep moving." Khan pushes Loki's hand away as the god reaches for some of the lesser injuries. "This is good enough."

"Remove your clothing."

"I beg your pardon." Khan's smile is casual and suggestive, and Loki feels his blood broiling.

"Do not make me repeat myself."

And without further coercion, Khan shrugs off his jacket and lifts the hem of his shirt over his head, stretching his well-toned torso in a blatant. Loki inspects him with critical eyes. He hasn't had the chance to heal all the injuries, but only a few faint bruises remain—the human's own regenerative abilities the obvious explanation. Loki takes the battered shirt and jacked and wrings them out, once, twice, before the clothing are as good as new. He tosses them back onto the human's lap, and Khan promptly begins to dress himself.

"I can shield our energies so that they cannot find us." Loki says, rising to his feet. "Although, the confinements of this protection are strictly limited to my close proximity."

Khan pauses, pulls the fitted fabric over his stomach, and looks to Loki with a touch of skepticism. "Are you sure they can't track us?"

"Yes," the god snaps, inexplicably irritated by the other's doubt, "Otherwise, you would not have been the only one whom they managed to find."

"Very well, then. We will seek refuge at the heart of their headquarters. In San Francisco."

"Only if I choose the chambers."

The human arches a brow in question. "Why?"

And Loki in that moment decides to take his female form—a chic, strapless dress replacing his impeccable suit, his feet once again clad in dangerous heels. He presses his lips together, and suddenly, they are ruby red. And if Khan is surprised by this sudden transformation, he hid it masterfully well.

"Because I am a god," Loki says, smoothing the long, dark locks spilling over his shoulders, "And I will not be stuffed in some cave."

"We're top priority on the Federation's hit list. We need to stay low."

"Then, you better don a proper disguise, as well." Loki curls his lips to a thin smile, voice softened in femininity but lacking in none of his usual wiles. He kneels before the mortal once more, and pulls over the other's hood and lifts his collar, running a delicate hand through the fringe of unruly hair above Khan's forehead. The man tenses under the touch but doesn't recoil. It's a pitiful, half-hearted disguise. Khan still appears very much like himself, although people might overlook upon first glance. They're probably expecting some bloody, half-battered madman, after all.

"Perhaps I should have transformed you into a woman instead." Loki teases, stepping back to observe his handiwork. "You are more easily recognized than I am."

"Why does either of us have to be a woman?" Khan retorts rather flatly, rising to his feet. They were more or less the same height as males, but now, the human towers over the god.

"You wished to know the extent of my abilities, did you not?" Loki grins, spreading his arms in a blatant display of his new, sinful body, although Khan's lack of reaction takes most of the fun out of it. "This is only the first step. Now, take me to the most extravagant hotel in San Francisco, and I will show you what else I am capable of."

###

The exposure to the Tesseract had unleashed something within him—innate and previously hidden, until it all suddenly burst like a dam, spilling and uncontainable. His magic has never felt the same since, even without the ethereal blue dancing beneath his eyelids, whispering of greatness and redemption. The transformation had been both terrifying and liberating, opening his eyes to unimaginable possibilities. Loki can still practice mind control without the Tesseract, although to a much lesser degree—one person at a time, and only under a predisposed state where the victim is already vulnerable to manipulation.

That's hardly a challenge to say the least. Loki is a master of trickery, and the damsel in distress act—coupled with sultry whispers and wordless promises—works splendidly on foolish men. He has the hotel manager wrapped around his fingers in no time, while Khan stands a few feet away by the entrance of the Ritz-Carlton, trying to not make eye contact with anyone.

"Mrs. Laurie Lefferson, is it?" The manager smiles beneath his thick mustache, and enters the name into a device in search for their reservation, which of course, does not exist.

"Yes." Loki leans a bit more forward against the counter, chin resting on an open palm, lips curving in a way to suggest the reservation is the least on his mind.

The manager catches on, his Adam's apple bobbling slightly, before regaining his composure. He tilts his head towards the entrance, before arching a brow. "And the gentleman by the doors must be Mr. Lefferson?"

"Indeed." Loki hums, assessing the man through thick lashes for any hints of weaknesses that the god could possibly exploit—a cheating spouse, an overactive libido, or perhaps, just the plain desperation to impress.

"Forgive me, madam, but your husband looks vaguely like—" The manager frowns, neck straining to get a better view, but Loki is quick to intervene.

"Yes, he does," he says airily, tilting in a way to obstruct the man's line of vision, "Unfortunately, so. Although, I can assure you that he is not. We have been married for ten years."

"Yet, no wedding ring?" The man smiles knowingly, and Loki instinctively withdraws his hand, cursing himself for overlooking the most basic of Midgardian customs.

But sharp-minded as always, he immediately invents an excuse, sighing heavily before casting his eyes away from the curious man. "It has been difficult recently, I must say. My husband and I—we—" He breaks off, teeth sinking into painted lips. The manager shakes his head, sympathy evident in his expression, although his eyes flicker of something predatory. Loki suppresses a grin. What could be more alluringly taboo than a young, neglected wife?

"Forgive my intrusion, madam," the manager says, eyes unwavering from the digital display, "but I must admit, you are too young and beautiful to be married for ten years."

The god laughs—bright and open—and he can tell that the foolish mortal is utterly enthralled. "Empty flattery, sir." He lowers his voice to an inviting purr, leaning closer still until his victim is tempted to meet him halfway. "Can get you practically anywhere, it seems."

And just like that, the man's mind is completely gone.

###

"Impressive, is it not?" Loki says to Khan as they step through the embellished double-doors.

Loki manages to swindle the most lavish room in the hotel, the penthouse suite spanning the entire top floor, including private access to the terrace with a breathtaking view of the city. It consisted of one large bedroom with a draped king-sized bed, and an alpine living area with floor-to-ceiling windows and red velvet sofas. The bathroom was marble with clamshell sinks and silver taps. These rooms were originally intended for newly wed couples, which of course, is only a minor inconvenience.

Loki had informed the manager that they are not to be bothered henceforth—no servants or staff allowed to venture anywhere within their living quarters. They are still wanted men, after all, and meddling mortals are a needless risk best to be avoided.

"I hope you do not mind sleeping here," Loki says, running a delicate hand along the beautifully crafted loveseat. Surely, Khan has slept in worse places before, considering he's a refugee long before they had met.

The human does not respond, although showing no signs of objection either, and a brief moment passes before the he finally speaks—words perfectly weighted as if he had been considering them for awhile. "What is your true form?"

Loki raises an elegant brow, lips playfully curving. "Does this not please you?" He slides his hands down the arch of his hips. "I thought it would."

"Answer me." Khan insists, voice hard, and Loki purses his lips in displeasure.

"Why does it matter? I can appear however I wish."

It was an unsatisfactory answer, as the human continues to assess him with eyes like cold daggers. Loki scowls viciously, oblivious to the human's intentions but nonetheless, assuming the worst. "I am Jötun, as you already know. My true appearance is not difficult to imagine."

"Then, whose face did you borrow?" Khan speaks with deliberation, and Loki feels his blood broiling once again, glowering at the mortal with barely contained rage. How dare he challenge Loki so fearlessly, accuse him of stealing something that is rightfully his—one of his few birthrights, his image—despite the glamour that turned his skin pale, his eyes green.

"No one's." Loki's lips twist of indignation. "These disguises are mine and mine alone."

The silence hangs over them like a shroud and seems to stretch indefinitely before the mortal finally relents, maneuvering past the obstinate god and taking a seat on the velvet sofa.

"I have no preference in which form you take. It's entirely up to you."

Loki pinches his brows together, feeling as if something enlightening has occurred between them, although the meaning is entirely lost to him. Khan doesn't meet his questioning eyes, and instead, undoes the straps of his boots.

"I can steal an image if I wish," the god eventually says, anger having dissipated with only bafflement in its place. He closes his eyes and focuses on the semblance of cropped blond hair, curiously blue eyes, the naivety of children, and the arrogance of fools. This is not his best work, but it definitely resembles of the Starfleet Captain, Kirk.

Khan straightens in his seat, his eyes marginally widening, as if once again intrigued.

"Or perhaps, _this_ is what you prefer." Loki teases, hearing the Captain's voice from his lips for the first time and relishing the strangeness of the new form.

"Hardly," Khan chuckles, lip turning upwards at one end, "Although, this does give me an idea of the means to achieve our end goal."

"What are you thinking?" Loki asks, but the human, in lieu of answering him, looks quickly to every corner of the room, his brows furrowed in thought.

"Will we be safe here?" He says, and the god nods.

"Within these walls, yes, although my shield will not reach beyond. If you wish to step out, I will have to accompany you."

"Then, accompany me. I need to retrieve a few of my belongings."

* * *

Thank you to much for reading! Feed back is motivation and love. Stay tuned :)


	7. The Calm Before A Storm

**Chapter 6: The Calm Before A Storm**

Sorry for the _long_ hiatus. This will always be a side project, I'm afraid, but I did manage to complete my main fic (for now, there will be sequel), so I have a little more time to devote to Khoki goodness. Anyway, thank you so much for being patient, and please enjoy :)

* * *

"What is this place?" Loki asks as the human leads them to a warehouse of some sort—windowless with bare concrete walls and enough dust to cause his throat to constrict. The god wrinkles his nose delicately at the dreary ambiance.

"In short, my previous residence." Khan says as he flips a switch, and a machine in the middle of the room begins to glow with life, tinting everything within the walls to hues of eerie gold and orange.

"What are these machines?" Loki asks, eyes fixed to the dancing lights.

"Certain inventions to alleviate my dependence to the Federation." Khan blows some dust off a counter before speeding his fingers across a keyboard. The machines seem to respond immediately. "The Federation monitor and monopolize most of the resources available, and let's just say it's in my best interest to remain under their radar."

"What purpose do these serve?"

"Many, but the most notable—I have to admit—are access to the Federation's libraries and transportation." Khan slips on a small metallic band, which clicks and wraps snugly around his wrist. "This is a cruder model but it will have to do."

Loki leans over the human's shoulder, more out of curiosity than anything. "That is your teleportation device?"

"Indeed."

"Would you still need it, now that I am here?"

Khan laughs, deep and rumbling in the back of his throat. "I prefer not to be wholly dependent."

"Smart man." Loki smirks before opting to explore on his own.

They remain in the warehouse for sometime, and after close inspection of every gadget that catches his eye, and even breaking a few insignificant trinkets, Loki begins to find increasingly value in his time, while depleting significance in the contraptions around him.

"How much longer will this take?" Loki remarks into the rhythmic sounds of machine parts at work. "I am growing rather bored."

"Awhile longer, I'm afraid." Khan responds, eyes never leaving his work. "But this would be a good time for us to talk."

"About what?"

"You, I suppose. I know next to nothing about you, while you know all there is to know about me."

Loki laughs, a sharp bark that echoes against the concrete walls. "I highly doubt the validity of that claim."

Khan chuckles as well, his lips pressed to an uneven grin. "I am an augment. I possess mental and physical prowess far exceeding those of normal humans. I am the last of my kind, and my only desire is vengeance against the Federation. There is very little more you need to know, but you're welcomed to ask your questions."

Loki takes a moment to consider the offer, but decides that further queries can wait until he has gained the other's trust—or at least, as much of it as possible.

"Fine," the god says, striding over to Khan until he is visible from the corner of he human's eyes. He takes a seat on a metallic box, concluding that it must be of little importance since Khan does not object otherwise. "What do you wish to know about me, then?"

"Where are you from, for starters?" The human speaks rather monotonously, mind obviously occupied. "Jötunheim or Asgard."

Loki—being the masterful liar that he is—realizes he must approach with caution henceforth, now that his alliance with Khan seems likely to be long-term. And as clever, and calculating, and _cruel_ as the human appears, Khan is not without weakness—his family, his _sentiment_, emotions of the softer nature that can easily be exploited. And they had been exploited, by the Federation prior, and what is left—the all consuming rage and thirst for vengeance—is something Loki can easily relate to, even without lying, for the most part.

"I was born in Jötunheim, raised in Asgard."

"You were adopted." Khan responds, the inflection at the end indicating some sort of surprise.

"Yes."

"Was this before the First War?"

"No, during." Loki explains. "I was born during the First War, under the reign of Odin. The glamour concealed my true image, so that even I knew not of my heritage, and I was raised under this pretense."

"How did you find out?"

"During a minor battle, when my glamour faded under the touch of a Jötun soldier, and afterwards, everyone knew." He doesn't need to lie much, he decides. Simply omitting truths will do.

"What happened then?"

"I left Asgard. I could not bear the way others looked at me."

Khan falls silent, almost in condolence, and Loki does his best to swallow the bitterness on his tongue. The last thing he wants from the human is pity.

"Who was Thor. To you?" Khan asks after the brief interlude.

"A blundering oaf." Loki twists his lips into a thin frown, before adding, "A once friend."

"And what is Asgard to you now?"

"I do not know."

"But you wish to liberate it."

"I wish to rule it."

His response appears to be an unexpected one, and Khan shows as much surprise as one could without altering any facial features with the exception of his eyebrows. "And what about Jötunheim?

"I wish to rule it too—all of the Nine Realms. And I will be a great king."

"Better than Thor, I presume." The human grins, and Loki responds with a sanctimonious sneer.

"Thor was never fit to inherit the throne." _Certainly not the Thor in this world_. "I was raised in the palace, as a sorcerer's son, and I knew Thor since childhood. He lacks modesty, levelheadedness, complexity—he has strength, but that is all. I am unsurprised that he lead an empire to its demise."

Khan merely hums in return, eyes never leaving his machines, and Loki wonders if the human is truly occupied. Nevertheless, the god opts to elaborate, hopefully to strengthen his legitimacy. He is still unsure whether Khan believes him entirely, or not.

"Certainly, no one would listen to me now, if I were to return," Loki says, "I have been labeled a traitor, a Jötun spy in the house of Odin, and I have made several enemies in my aimlessness. I belong to neither Asgard nor Jötunheim, but I certainly would not allow lowly Midgard—or _Earth_, as you would say—to ravage my once home. The Federation has not encountered Asgardian magic for centuries, and judging by the technology I have dealt with so far, they are ill prepared for this kind of war. Asgard may have rejected me during my time, but now, in yours, they are not privileged with that choice. I desire to lead the fallen to it's once glory."

"Will you have the means?" Khan turns to him for the first time since the start of their conversation, expression impassive but without disrespect. It's almost unnerving how his features reveal almost nothing.

"The Asgardians are a warrior race, although without a proper leader," Loki asserts, "And I believe I can fill this void if once coveted weapons—such as the helmet of Thor—is so readily available, in museums on Midgard, as it seems. And once I have my army, you will have your revenge. Does that not fulfill my end of the bargain?"

Khan laughs—brisk, and low, and mesmerizingly deep—as he turns to face his machines once more. "Pity you were cheated of your place in history. Perhaps things could have turned out differently. But it matters not. History might as well be written now."

Loki makes no response, eyeing the human with an air of doubt, because it all somehow feels too easy, convincing Khan. Maybe he has given the human too much credit, or perhaps, it is the god who is overlooking something significant.

"I suppose you will be extending your stay indefinitely now, would-be-king," Khan continues, without any inflection, any indications in tone, as to indicate whether he is mocking or sincere. "I rather prefer that you do," he adds, and Loki is once again left speechless.

###

Khan brings some of his machines back to the hotel, which Loki finds disruptive of the decorum, but refrains from voicing any of his complaints aloud. The human labors over his devices for the next three days—thoroughly transfixed, without uttering two words in between—and Loki in the time being, decides to let him be. The god explores Midgard on his own—from the endless rush of New York City, to the quiet fluidity of Napoli. He visits libraries, museums, and private collections of Asgardian trinkets, and finds possibilities to be endless. The humans have no clue as to the power these relics harbor, and Loki yearns for the day when he will open their eyes to their ignorance.

He had given Khan several days to sort out his own priorities, but on the evening of the fourth, his boredom and curiosity gets the better of him, prompting him to hover the human's shoulder and self-righteously demand for clarification.

"I needed to make adjustments to the program," Khan explains, "Since updates were made to the Federation database in the past year, and new compartments were added to the library, that needed special codes to access. I believe we'll be making trips to museums soon?"

"A few relics have caught my eye," Loki says as he swings himself over the back of the couch, taking a seat beside the human.

"There are more artifacts under research and kept from public viewing. Perhaps, they will be of use also." Khan adjusts his controls, and a collection of files are projected before them in translucent blues and greens.

"Are those the Scrolls of the Ancients?" Loki points out, and he could hardly believe it—sacred records of the Asgardian libraries, that not even he as second prince had access to. He feels his breath hitch and mind stunned with unholy glee. "They were only available to the sagest of sorcerers, and they hold record to the most powerful relics known to Aesir. Could they be real?"

"There is one way to find out," Khan says before expanding the file, and reads, "Currently under transcription in the Univeristy of Oslo, Norway."

"Perhaps that should be our first plunder," Loki muses, still very much astounded by their good fortune.

"Perhaps." Khan repeats. "I trust you know the means of ensuring a formidable army in Asgard."

"Your trust is well placed," the god allows himself a grin, "From what I understand, Asgard of this time is largely agricultural, but the Bifrost—the most powerful weapon at their hands—remains intact, and strangely, a tourist attraction. I doubt the humans understand the true extent of its destructive power. Or perhaps, they have overlooked the danger, since the Asgardians now lack the ability to operate it."

"Will you be able to?"

"Yes, but I am not the only one."

###

They were supposed to be on that five-year mission by now, carrying out their true objective of deep space exploration. The Enterprise has been remodeled and rebuilt—and it looks even more awesome than before, Jim didn't know it was possible—and they were practically on the brink of take off before receiving the urgent message: Khan has escaped from his high security prison on the outskirts of Saturn.

And naturally, Jim was given the task to reel in the homicidal maniac, and he supposes he wouldn't have preferred it any other way. Out of all the teams in the Federation, no one understands how dangerous Khan can be, better than he and his crew.

"Who the hell do they think they are? Comic book villains?" Bones groans in exasperation, flipping off the news. Khan and his mysterious new ally, Leiv, have managed to infiltrated another museum—this time in Dublin—and without a doubt, have stolen some archaic stone tablet or an antique spear of some sort.

"What is this time?" Jim stretches his neck in the direction of the doctor, over his large pile of paperwork. Without any leads to where the culprits might be and Starfleet's tracking technology apparently failing, Jim and his team are now forced to do research in the most primitive of ways.

"An ancient sword—Hofuo, or something like that," Bones responds with his usual grimace, just as Carol drops another stack of old parchment onto his desk. The doctor coughs as the dust settles.

"Christ," he grumbles as he picks up a loose file, "Would it kill them to digitalize these? They look like they could crumble to dust any minute."

"These were discovered rather recently," Carol explains before taking a seat beside Jim, "And with everything that had happened in the past couple of years—the destruction of Vulcan, the looming war with the Klingons—could you really blame the Federation for diverging some of their resources? Who would've known that old records of Asgardian politics could come to any immediate use?"

"Is that what we agreed on?" Jim says as he takes a bite out of an apple, which Bones had previously used as a paperweight. "That Leiv is Asgardian?"

"Well, he certainly isn't a Frost Giant." Carol looks to him pointedly, and Jim shrinks back into his seat, grumbling. "But that's our best guess, considering Jötunheim has been a frozen wasteland for the past 300 years," the beautiful science officer continues, "And judging from the artifacts they have stolen, it could be more problematic than we think. Legend has it that these weapons contain magic beyond our understanding, and only sorcerers of Aesir blood can wield them—although warriors and sorcerers of the Nine Realms practically destroyed one another during their wars. But if Leiv happens to be one of the surviving few, he might fancy his chances."

"You don't actually believe that magic nonsense, do you?" Bones waves a dismissive hand, and Carol turns to the doctor rather indignantly, obviously insulted by his flippancy.

"Then why else would Khan and Leiv target these artifacts? Certainly not for their own private collection, or to sell them."

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe Leiv's just as delusional and insane as Khan is."

"Khan might be insane, but he's not an idiot," Jim interjects, and his two officers promptly falls silent, "And until we have more information, we will treat those artifacts as dangerous weapons—whatever they are. Do we have all the records from the museums?"

"Yes," Carol responds, "The raw data are all here and there will be more transferred to our library soon."

"Right," Jim nods, "And what about Asgard?"

"Nyota and Spock are in contact with their current leader, Heimdall," Bones explains as he sorts through some files on his PADD, revealing a holographic photo of the prominent man in golden armor. "Of course, that was before the empire collapsed."

"What's the story with this guy?"

"He was once the king's most trusted generals, and took the role of leader after the end of the royal lineage. He has been very cooperative with the Federation. Maybe he can give us something to work with, regarding Leiv."

The doctor enters a few commands until files of Leiv replace those of Heimdall. Jim watches several stills of Leiv's momentary detainment in the brig and confrontations with Khan.

"I can't quite put my finger on it but—" Bones frowns, rubbing at the back of his neck, "—does he remind you of someone we might know?"

* * *

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